


I Was Singin' To You, You Were Singin' To Me ; I Was So Alive, Never Been More Free

by beejette



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest, cora/derek, mentions of laura/derek, roadtripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beejette/pseuds/beejette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His wolf, that doesn't care about little titles like 'sister' or 'incest', rumbles for her, paces, snuffles, whines, wants those long legs wrapped around him, wants to bury his nose in that neck and scent and mark, and it's fucking wrong, but Derek's wolf doesn't listen to reason. It just sits there in his chest and /wants/.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was Singin' To You, You Were Singin' To Me ; I Was So Alive, Never Been More Free

They listen to Cora's iPod most of the time.

If it didn't have equal mix of his music and hers, they'd definitely be listening to the radio, but Placebo and Combi Christ comes on just as often as Three Days Grace and A Day To Remember.

By the second day, she's made herself too comfortable, the way she always does, loses her shoes in the foot-well and props bare feet, toenails painted a cheery and entirely too cute cherry red, on the dash. She'll lean back in her seat and belt the lyrics to Stevie Nicks and Audra Mae, the way she used to when they were younger, and Derek will shoot her an annoyed glance, but he's missed it, and she knows it.

She even gets him to join in on the songs they both know, Blue Oyster Cult and CCR. His singing is softer than hers, but she doesn't try to make him sing louder.

The further south they go, the less clothing Cora wears, and by the time they hit south Nevada, she's sitting in the passenger seat in a tank top and a pair of jean shorts that are cut at her thighs. She keeps her feet propped, and Derek can only glance into the side-mirror so many times before he has to notice the curve of her legs.

His wolf, that doesn't care about little titles like 'sister' or 'incest', rumbles for her, paces, snuffles, whines, wants those long legs wrapped around him, wants to bury his nose in that neck and scent and mark, and it's fucking wrong, but Derek's wolf doesn't listen to reason. It just sits there in his chest and _wants_. 

-

The months spend on the road are long and hard, and bring up bad memories for Derek, memories of long roads with the fire fresh in his mind. Cora hits a similar rough patch, and during those couple of weeks between Nevada and Utah, Derek wakes up to find Cora in bed with him, or sidled up to him from her side of the seat. She's always wrapped as close around him as she can be, leg propped over his and arms around his middle, face tucked against his back.

Their movements become too easy, too friendly. It gets to the point where it's normal, expected, for Derek to rest his hand on Cora's knee while he drives, one hand on the wheel, thumb tapping to the beat of the song Cora's picked. 

Or it's perfectly fine that Cora's rests on his thigh, fingers tickling the inseam of his jeans, when they're sitting on an unfamiliar couch and watching crappy, rabbit-ear tv. 

It's strange and new, like they're rediscovering each other, because they're different people than they used to be. 

-

In a crappy Motel 6 room with a broken air conditioner in Utah, Derek catches his sister masturbating.

It was an innocent mistake, really. She'd thought he was out, and he had been, off to get dinner. Cora just hadn't expected him to forget his wallet and trek back up to the room to retrieve it, only to find his baby sister, shirt pushed up and the cups of her bra pushed down to bare her breasts to her own hands; jeans and panties hanging around one knee, spread wide open and fucking herself with the handle to her hair brush. She's letting out these helpless, little noises from the back of her throat, head thrown back as her hips buck up to the thrusts. 

Derek should leave, cough, do something other than stand there, stark still, and watch her fuck herself with wet sounds that he could've heard even without the wolf-hearing.

Derek stands there in the doorway, eyes burning ice blue and a hard-on from hell practically busting the seam of his jeans, watches her body start to tighten, her movements start to quicken, listens to her cries start to become desperate, that strung tight, keening kind of noise that borders a really good orgasm. 

She hits it with a jerk and a cry and Derek has to physically stop himself from groaning, watching the way her body trembled and her mouth fell open. He watches her shake and tremble and pant, soft whimpers exiting as her body relaxes, the wave of post-orgasm glow like a thick haze over her. 

It's only when the throbbing in his cock becomes unbearable, and he can feel the wet spot created against his briefs, that he moves, grabs his wallet and toes out of the room. He's just pulling the door shut when he hears the sound of the sliding bedroom doors open, and then he's jogging down the hall, lest she open the door to check and see if he's still here, maybe wondering why the living area of their room smells like his arousal. He hopes she chalks it up to the smell of him mixed with her own arousal. He hopes she doesn't even notice.

He jerks off in a KFC bathroom while they're getting his order ready, and when he shoots over his knuckles, Cora's name comes tumbling from his mouth. 

When he gets back to the room, Cora's giddy and grinning, and she's sprayed her body spray around the room to lessen the scent of her arousal, her orgasm, but Derek still smells it. His cock stays half hard in his jeans for days over it.

-

In St. Paul, Minnesota, Cora catches Derek going at it, and she doesn't just stand there while he's sprawled on his bed, head tilted back, stroking his cock with quick, precise movements. He's got his teeth clenched, because the people here know Cora's his sister and that's all he needs, is someone to hear him groan his sister's name during orgasm, because Cora's hair, her legs, her ass, her mouth is all he thinks about anymore.

Cora had been out at the library, sending emails to Stiles and Scott to let them know how they were doing. She thinks they should rebuild their pack. Derek thinks if they did, Cora would probably be more of an alpha than he would.

He's just starting to tighten up on the thought of Cora's hand replacing his, lithe fingers, when he hears the front door open. He fumbles for his jeans, but he's a dumbass and left the door wide open, and there's no way she misses his cock, completely erect blowing a full head of steam and kind of purple in color. It's not his fault she just barged in on him two seconds from orgasm.

Cora stops short, mouth falling open, and just watches Derek yank his jeans up around his hips. He doesn't say anything. Neither does he. He does sit up, however, and then he stands, and brushes past her for his jacket. "Gonna get dinner," he mumbles, and head out the door completely and utterly mortified.

When he comes back with Burger King, Cora's reading a book and is it his imagination, or does the room smell like an orgasm? Can't be his, it's sticking and crusting in a fistful of toilet paper in the wastebasket of the nearest gas station. 

By the time they lay down to sleep, Derek's convinced himself he imagined it.

-

In Atlantic City, Maryland, Cora disappears for a few hours.

She'd convinced him to spend some time on the boardwalk, because she loves all the bustle and the noise, loves that all the shops are right next to each other and you can buy carnival fries at one vendor and then walk across the way and get a henna tattoo done, and even Derek has to admit he's having fun. 

He steps into the bathroom of one of the restaurants for just a minute and when he comes back out, Cora's not there, and he can't find her through the throng of people. There are so many confusing smells and sounds. 

He scours the boardwalk for an hour, texting and calling her phone. Finally, after two hours, he gets a text from her, informing him that she's at the hotel room, which really pisses him off, because it's six miles from the boardwalk. 

The entire way back, he's speeding, too angry to care, and when he pulls in the parking lot, his eyes flick to see the light on in their shared room, and it just reignites his anger all over again.

Derek rushes up the stairs and pounds on the door, because Cora always has to have the fucking card key whenever they leave the hotel rooms.

When Cora opens the door, he shoves her back into the room, slamming the door behind him. "What the fuck," he snarls. "Do you know how fucking worried I was? I thought you were gone, I thought you were fucking /dead/!" Derek's hands curl into fists at his sides, claws biting into his palms.

Cora, recovering after stumbling into the bed, crosses her arms. "I was _fine_ , Derek. I can take care of myself."

"That's not the point!" He's grabbing her arms, shaking her. "I thought you were dead! I thought...I thought..." 

He cuts off, mouth pressing into an angry line, because he can't begin to explain the fear, the hopelessness, the grief when he considered that he might have lost her all over again, and there's no way he can just continue on alone. If Cora's not there, if someone's not there for Derek to press into, for him to cling to in the midnight hours where there are tears rolling down his face for everyone he's loved that's died, blood on his hands, Derek will drive right off a cliff. He'll inject wolfsbane and hope it gives him a slow, painful death, like they had. He doesn't deserve quick, he doesn't deserve painless. He deserves shit.

He doesn't have to say it, though. He doesn't. Because Cora's gone through the loss too. Cora understands what it is to wake up in the middle of the night with the memory scent of blood and smoke burning your nose.

She drags him close by the lapels of his jacket. A hug, he thinks dimly. He's always been fond of hugs. Wolves are. Hugs, pets, nuzzles. Any form of endearment of touch. 

But Cora surprises him, because she doesn't just let him throw his arms around her and nuzzle into her neck. She slides her hands up, framing his angular face, and kisses him on the lips.

He considers pausing. He considers pushing her back. He considers telling her that it's wrong when she makes no move to pull away immediately and leave it a family-kiss, a kiss that they'd shared with their parents plenty of times.

But Derek doesn't.

He pulls her close, surrenders with a bone-deep sigh, and the tears that roll down his face clash with hers.

 

-

It's snowing by the time they make it up to New York. Derek always liked the city during winter. Maybe they'll stay long enough to spend New Year's here. He'd love to show Cora Times Square when it's bustling with people, all waiting for midnight.

It also makes him sad, because everywhere he takes Cora, he sees their elder sister.

He's admitted to her that he and Laura had a similar relationship when they came to New York after the fire. He had to when someone recognized him and asked where his girlfriend was, had to explain, because Cora's jealous. Of everyone. 

He also told her about Kate. They had that conversation in some dump hotel in Pennsylvania, a few weeks after their first kiss. He admits the whole story and cries about it, and Cora makes it all go away for a while, lays with him on the bed and nuzzles and trails her fingertips across his back and chest. They don't have sex. Derek's adamant that he take her out on an actual date first. He is, after all, a gentleman. Cora had laughed and rolled her eyes. 

They were intimate enough, however, for Derek to discover that Cora wasn't a virgin. He hadn't thought she would be, because Cora's not the kind of woman that puts too much stock into something imaginary, like a perfect first time and waiting for the right one. No, Derek guesses she'd had sex with someone experienced, someone who knew what they were doing, but there were no delusions about love or a happy ending or a white picket fence. 

Derek wants to give her those things, wants to give her the pack she craves, the family. He just doesn't know how. He hopes she sticks around long enough to let him figure it out.

Derek spends an entire day showing her the aspects of his and Laura's shared life together. He shows her their apartment, that he's still been paying the rent on, that still has all their things in it. He shows her their favorite deli, where pepperoni rolls are half-priced on Thursdays and the pizza is always made fresh when you order it. He shows her Central Park, and their favorite jogging path. He shows her the school Laura was going to, the school he was going to. He shows her where he and Laura decided they were going to do this, her and him, all the way. 

She lets him take her through those memories, because she somehow knows that he needs it, and promises that she'll tell him where she was all those years, maybe even show him one day.

Opening his and Laura's apartment for the first time in years is like losing her all over again. He sobs into his hands, sobs freely, because this is Cora, and she's crying too. They hold each other. They cry.

When the soft, reassuring touches turn to kisses, Derek allows it. When she slips a leg over his, pushes him against the back of the couch, he allows it. When her hands skim under his shirt and she licks the tears from his cheeks, he allows it. But when her hands move to the button of his jeans, he arrests them with his.

"I can't," he whispers, shaking his head. "I want to...I just...I can't. Not here."

Cora pulls back, glances over his face, and she must see it in his eyes, because although he knows that she's jealous, jealous he can't let Laura go yet, she nods and kisses his mouth. 

-

Together, they decide to let the apartment go, to only keep a few of Laura's things, the things that meant the most, and give the rest to Goodwill. 

They spend almost three weeks packing everything up and trade their car for an SUV, big enough to haul all the boxes. Cora wants to go someplace warm. Florida, maybe. All Derek knows is that when they start on this trip, Cora's sidled up against him, his arm's around her, and he feels a lot better about...well, _everything_.

They follow the ocean, take coastal roads, all the way down the eastern seaboard, and Cora mostly stares out the window, humming along to the songs on the radio. It's contentment that's settled her usually jittery nature. She's content with who and were she is. Derek likes it. 

She's also been looking on the internet for apartments for cheap, which is a joke in Florida. He isn't sure when they decided they were moving there, but he likes the thought of beaches and weather warm enough to leave the windows open year-round. He likes the thought of constant summer. Maybe he could get a construction job down here. 

Because of Cora's insistent nature, they have three places to look at the day they arrive in Miami. The first one's on the beach, too modern and too expensive. The second is a house, huge, foreclosed by the bank and in need of work, so they're selling it cheap. It kind of reminds Derek of their house, the Hale house, before the fire. Cora falls in love with the sun room. They don't even make it out to see the third place.

They can move in as soon as the check clears, and by the time night falls, Derek's walking into their huge house with to-go bags of Cuban food from the place two streets over. Cora's got the air mattress set up in what's probably the dining room but is the only room where the floor doesn't sag when you walk across it.

She's sitting there in those shorts he's come to love, the ones that cut at her thighs, and she's curling her long hair around her fingers, reading magazine article on the best way to redo a room. She's already thinking of wood flooring through the whole house. Wood is easier to clean. All Derek knows is wood is a pain in the ass, not to mention damn expensive.

"What do you think," she asks, and pushes the magazine toward him across the bedspread. "For the kitchen. I think a lighter wood. Cedar, maybe. Then, with the french doors facing the west, it'll catch the afternoon sun, and when we come home, we can cook dinner and it'll glow." She glances up at him, hand under her chin, and she's more beautiful than she's ever been, lying there, planning their lives.

Derek takes the magazine, dumps it on the floor, and Cora looks like she's going to protest until he pulls her astride his lap and kisses her.

Derek undresses her slowly, shirt first, then shorts, then bra and panties. He kisses her entire body, brushes up her legs and tummy and arms, and then teases her with his mouth until she's whining, clutching his shirt and panting "Derek...god, please, Dee...Please."

What else can he do but oblige, but slide out of his clothes and push into her, while she's unfolding to take him, between her legs, into her arms, and, he hopes, into her heart, if he's not there already. She's in his, seated firmly, stubbornly.

Derek's pace is quick, passionate the first time. The second is slower, more drawn out, and he focuses on making her come so many times, there's a wetspot on the bedspread by the time they lie down to sleep.

Neither of them dream of fire that night.

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't exactly turn out the way I wanted it to, but I've been procrastinating with it like an asshole, so.


End file.
